En Route
by KelliP
Summary: "I've fallen in love with random women on the subway." – Richard Castle, 2x22 Food to Die For. The story of how the New York Times best-selling novelist once fell in love with a certain detective on the subway.


Clearing out all the half-finished files on my computer. This is something I started when writing 'What If?'. Enjoy.

* * *

**En Route**

"I've fallen in love with random women on the subway."

- Richard Castle, 2x22 Food to Die For

He hits the street on near a run and ducks his face, tries to bury it in the thick navy scarf knotted tight around his neck. Late January's icy winds batter his dark grey pea coat, tiny icicles swirling up off the pavement, bitter as they latch onto his lashes. Castle rubs the heels of his hands hard against his eyelids to wipe away the frost then shoves wind-bitten fingertips deep into his pockets as he begins to push through the crowd. No chance of hailing a taxi today. Instead, he heads for the subway just two blocks down.

Ducking between the standstill traffic, his gaze finds the hands of his watch. Damn. The meeting started five minutes ago. Technically not his fault – his mother was late to babysit Alexis – but still fresh out of their divorce, Gina will never buy it. He picks up the pace into a hurried half-jog and takes the steps down into the station two at a time.

His breathing is more than a little laboured as he spills onto the underground platform with two small kicks of his feet to displace the slush on his shoes. He plays the light wheezing off as the dryness of the winter air and twists his way through the crowd, a little slower now as he catches his breath. Finding the yellow line he comes to a stop right behind it, ready to be first to board. Can't miss this train. Already late enough as it is.

From somewhere deep in the tunnel a dim light begins to glow, the screeching of wheels on steel tracks beginning to reach his ears. Made it just in time. The train brakes to a stop and he gives the people on board barely enough time to disembark before he's already jumping into the carriage, fighting against heavy shoulders and jutting elbows to claim a spot beside the door. Only a few stops.

Wedging himself into a corner, he finally removes his hands from the pockets of his coat, the tips still numb and tinged a little blue from the cold that had bit at them. He flexes each finger twice for good measure and exhales a hot breath into cupped palms, each digit slowly warming as the circulation returns. A passenger walks by with a coffee and he sighs a little longingly at the rich aroma, wishing he'd had time to grab a cup. Will have to wait until after the meeting. Still, his eyes track the cup as it moves a little further into the carriage, flick up to the person holding the warm paper.

His breath catches in his throat, and he stills. Oh.

She's stunning.

* * *

She's halfway across the crowded car but she stands out bright, catches the attention of every man she moves by. Dark, mahogany hair sets off rich, earthy eyes, the flecks of green and brown and gold a vibrant mosaic even under the dull florescent subway lights. High cheekbones are flushed a pale pink, as is the tip of her sloped nose, a little bitten by the dry winter above the ground. But her pale skin is so smooth, so flawlessly milky, a perfect contrast to the thick lashes that brush against the top of her cheekbones as she peers down at the book in her hands. Her eyes are rapid in their movements, a flurry from left to right as she drinks the words on the page. He can almost imagine the story that's dancing around in her mind.

She shifts suddenly, fingernail digging between the pages to flip over and continue the story. With the movement the front cover of the book flashes in his direction.

Edgar Allen Poe.

Oh, yes.

This is a girl he could get to know.

* * *

His heart drums heavy against its ribcage prison, head a little dizzy as it spins exhilaratingly, blood hot and surging through his body. His throat closes over and he has to swallow hard to get the air into his lungs.

It's been a while since he's felt this way – if he's ever really felt like this. There's been stunned and breathless and lust all before, yes. But not like this. Not with Gina and certainly not with Meredith. And it's not that he doesn't notice other women. No. That would be the biggest of all lies. But this woman –

God. He's already fallen deep when he's done nothing more than laid eyes on her.

The man in front of him shifts with the rolling motion of the carriage, grey-hair now obstructing his line of sight. Castle has to slide to the left and wedge himself in between two disgruntled teenagers to keep his eyes on her. She hasn't moved, her nose still so close to buried between the pages of her book. He imagines what she's breathing in, that brilliant scent of a story growing old – notes of ink and paper that evoke memories of antique bookstores and armchairs and the soft flicker of a wood fireplace.

A tingle races down his spine, unfurls a ball of glowing warmth in his chest. He shakes loose the image from his mind, traces his eyes over the lines of her face once again. Slender fingers rise to tuck a loose whisper of hair behind her ear before they catch the corner of the book once again. The rest of her short hair remains in place, leaves her unbothered. It's sharp and commanding and – ah, hell – sexy.

Castle swallows hard and blinks quickly. Got to get a grip.

* * *

It happens all too soon.

There's a mumble from the conductor just before the train begins to slow. Her eyes flick up to the black walls rushing by outside the window and she throws her eye line down to the watch on her wrist. Her eyebrows knit and from her pocket she digs something out, positions it carefully between the pages of her book to hold her place. As the cover falls shut he catches sight of a rustic elephant peeking out from atop the pages, its soft features delicately formed from a swirl of polished iron. From a trip, perhaps? Or a gift? Blue eyes lift to study the expression worn on her face for a clue when her eyes catch his.

He stills.

Electricity jolts down his spine, surges to his fingertips.

His heart stops.

She shoots him the sweetest of smiles, and then she's gone.

* * *

He's still staring at the lingering ghost of her figure when the conductor makes another announcement. He glances out the window to read the bright blue sign. 23rd Street. Damn.

He's missed his stop.

He doesn't care.

In fact, he thinks he'll ride the subway a little more often.

* * *

"Are you snooping again?"

Castle startles backward, the book slipping from his fingertips to land with a thud. In the doorway stands his fiancée, eyes darkening with that knowing glare.

"Married couples aren't supposed to have secrets," he fumbles a weak excuse. "Just, uh – preparing."

Beckett shoots him a glare from across the top of the box she carries. He stumbles toward her and tries to take the cardboard square from her grasp but she turns at the last second and adds it to the pile by the door.

"Keep packing," is the only response she gives.

He nods once, twice, pretending to sort out her bookcase while she's still watching him. She's still in the room when it catches his eye.

It sits on the corner of her desk, marking place within a book. It's not at all hidden yet after all these years he's only noticing it now, the swirls glinting as the fading afternoon light streams through the windowpane. He moves slow and silent, everything caught in his throat as his fingertips reach for the iron.

"Castle?"

There's a smile on his face as he turns, the book with the rustic elephant peeking out held delicately in his hands.

Edgar Allen Poe.

"Everything okay?

"Yeah," he murmurs, the grin already blossoming across his lips. "I just have a really great story."

* * *

_More stories to come._

_kellisworld dot tumblr dot com_


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